


When the curtain calls

by Adeline_Hatter



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Death, Curiosity at First Sight, F/F, F/M, Fighting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magical Bonds, Magical Realism, Multiple Relationships, Permanent Bonds, Tags will update so watch out, The Night Circus - Erin Morgenstern - Freeform, The Night Circus AU, Timeline Shenanigans, War, soulmate bonds, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adeline_Hatter/pseuds/Adeline_Hatter
Summary: The circus arrives without warning, no announcements are made in the days before it's arrival and no warnings are given in regards to it's departure.Some believe it is a fairy tale.Others believe it is hell.All statements are true, so let me give one more.The Gods do so love their games and what they will do to you.
Relationships: Keyleth/Vax'ildan (Critical Role), Nott | Veth Brenatto/Caleb Widogast, Yeza Brenatto/Nott | Veth Brenatto
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	1. The Joyful Crowds

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the new AU I'll have probably abandoned by the new year.

**_Anticipation_ **

  
  


_ noun _

_ noun: anticipation; plural noun: anticipations _

_ the action of anticipating something; expectation or prediction. _ _   
_ _ "her eyes sparkled with anticipation" _

  * _Music  
the introduction in a composition of part of a chord which is about to follow in full._



* * *

_ 830 P.D, 22nd of Sydenstar  _

_ Felderwin  _

There is never much excitement that comes to town, it is a simple fact that lies there in the back of her head and a thought that only makes itself known when something actually interesting happens. 

The circus arrives without warning, she cannot remember any flyers or any new arrivals in town boasting about it and stealing drinks in the tavern to be bought off with but her parents and her brothers are quick to state that it isn’t new, she knew when they mentioned the name that it wasn’t new, she’d been before once as a girl, barely ten years old. 

She still had the cat statue her Mother had bought for her on that occasion, it sits on the shelf above her bed at home, a little orange tabby with blue eyes.

It is just  _ there  _ when she wakes up that morning, all shut up and stoic in tents the colour of monochrome, the gates sit locked but a lock has always been a little inviting to her, she did find it a little strange to see a circus without colour. 

Yeza- Her oldest friend and now her Fiance -had suggested they go when it was open to which she had perhaps too eagerly agreed to doing. 

It was cold out here, the crowd of the town's folk gathering were restless and wandering, some broke away as the sun went down stating it wasn’t worth it.

Her brothers hadn’t come, she notes as she scans the crowd carefully, she snuggles her hands further into her pockets, burying her nose in her scarf and breathing into the tightly knit fabric. 

An arm looped itself through hers, “Maybe we should go-” Yeza breathes into her ear, soft and warm against the bitter chill that curls around the crowd as more people give up and go home, “-we could go to the tavern and drink some hot cider or-” 

But he gasps before he finishes the sentence as the first change occurs in front of them, at first it is a spark out of the corner of her eye atop the big top tent in the centre of the circle and then it is a  _ transformation  _ entirely.

Carefully she watches purple curl down one stripe in the tent, followed by one in gold and another in blue. 

Greens curl down, two shades, one in a deep forest and the other in the same colour as the meadows that surround their village, the one this circus is currently situated in. 

Red curls next, followed by a shimmering silver that catches in the amber light and she finds herself smiling before she can stop it and Yeza is still next to her, staring in wonder just like her. 

Finally, the last stripe is left white and the smell of snowdrops greets noses first and is followed fast by the smell of popcorn and mulled cider, the smell of toffee and cinnamon, of salted caramel and the savoury smell of roasted chicken. 

Veth smiles widely as the light spread now, over every single tent as it exploded in colour, in music and the gates burst open. 

_ Welcome,  _ a voice in her head greets in a warm and familiar way as for the first time that day she slides her fingers into Yeza’s and pulls him after her toward the ticket booth. 

_ Welcome,  _ it repeats as they pay and make their way in with the crowd, into the overwhelming possibility of adventure. 

_ Welcome to our home  _

  
  


Magic is not a foreign concept within the continent of Wildemount, or Exandria for that matter but Veth has never been able to see much of it up close, at least not the illusionary end. 

What she sees  _ must  _ be an illusion for it to react like one, but the lights in the air are solid when they touch against her face and pleasantly  _ warm  _ like sitting at home by the fire. 

Colour is  _ everywhere  _ it was not in the last rays of sunlight, she wonders if she had ever seen colour before as she walks through it, through crowds of people who lean forwards towards beings in colour costumes and let a thread of colour be weaved through their scarfs. 

Purple scarfs seem to be the most popular, they come in all shades and styles, hats with silver ribbons and ladies’ gloves are either made or blue or green leather, the occasional cane is topped with a red so deep she wonders briefly if the hands holding it are bleeding.

Veth keeps pace with the crowd, Yeza keeps it with her just about, though it is bustling and she hardly knows where to start with the tents.

One to her left smells like pure and sweet honey, like the kind found in cakes or cookies, it reminds her of sleepless nights as a child when her Mother and Father would bundle her up away from her brothers and feed her milk heavy with the sweetness. 

The tent to her right produces crying patrons who smile so brightly warmth curls through her chest at the sight of them, as if they have just received the best news they could have ever received. 

Up ahead, the big top tent has laughter spilling from it in waves and the sound of music being played on a number of instruments. 

The area is awash in light, in colour and the intoxicating feeling of  _ joy.  _

She turns to Yeza to ask him where to start, only to find him missing and her hand empty as the crowd starts to push her to move along, busy and constant murmurs of jokes that set others laughing, children yelling in unmatched excitement. 

No one but her is alone, so it is easy for the crowd to move her, for her to get caught in the tide of people and she looks for Yeza, though he is a small man even for a halfling which makes it harder to discern him in the crowd.

Which is probably a statement that a woman who is marrying him on sunday should have never thought in the first place.

She thinks she catches a flash of his brown hair, but instead finds herself being pulled from the crowd onto the side by a hand encased in what feels like a soft glove.

When she looks up to thank whoever has rescued her, she finds blue eyes framed by long lashes in the center of a face with a cleft chin and a sharp jawline, “Are you alright?” The man’s voice is accented with what she thinks is zemnian and his hair is a shade of red she can’t recall ever seeing in Felderwin before.

“I’m okay, wasn’t expecting this much of a crowd.”

“Well.” He tilts his head, studies her and she breaks their eye contact to rid herself of the warm flutter in her chest to study, instead his long white gloves that look almost singed with burn marks and his brown coat with a fur lining, “It is a circus.”

She blinks, looking up to meet his eyes again, “Yes, it is.” She replies and finds her heart skipping a beat when his hand raises to his face to hide what she is sure  _ must  _ be a smile.

“Are you looking for someone?” He asks again, he doesn’t ask her for a word of gratitude she notes, doesn’t even bring it up, “Would it be the man with brown curly hair, sideburns and glasses?”

The description of Yeza is what makes her remember him, wondering how she had momentarily forgotten him in the first place a moment later and she opens her mouth to agree and say that  _ Yes, that is who I am looking for  _ but no sound escapes her when her lips open. 

It is all her though, there is no magic involved. 

“I have lost my friend.” She replies, wondering why the wrong term beginning with ‘F’ leaves her mouth, she takes a small step away from the man so that she doesn’t have to crane her neck so much, even though he looks average for a human, “And that does sound like him, yes.” 

He nods, “Wait here.” Then he is gone and returns a moment later, Yeza in hand, “I return him to you.” 

Yeza blinks at him, bewildered as he is positioning them both, “Sorry, the crowd was.” He gestures at the flow of people, then slides his hand onto his neck.

“It’s alright.” She breathes, relieved at seeing him filling her before she turns to face the man again, “Thank you.”

He nods, beginning to walk away with a quick flick of his red hair.

"Wait!" She calls out to him, he stops and turns back towards his eyebrows raising as if to say 'yes?', "I didn't get your name." 

He lets out a chuckle, "I didn't get yours either to be fair." 

".....I'm Nott." She answers, ignoring the odd look that Yeza gives her.

He pauses, tilting his head thinking, "My name is Caleb, Caleb Widogast." 

"Thank you for the rescue and for finding Yeza” 

"You are very welcome, Miss Nott." He bows his head down a little bit, “Enjoy the circus.” 

She looks at Yeza, ready to explain and when she looks back… 

Caleb Widogast is gone. 

  
  



	2. Gem Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Boy

_ 794 P.D, 4th of Duscar _

_ Bryoden  _

The Boy is a flighty thing who resembles his sister almost perfectly, he wiggles as the man pushes him from the little cottage, his sister is close behind and dimly he is aware of their Mother’s tears. 

He wants to turn around, he wants to ask what is happening but he has the strangest feeling he will not receive an answer, because he and his sister are ten years old and surrounded by adults, adults who don’t particularly choose to listen to children when they speak. 

Instead he reaches out a hand and takes his sister’s to pull her so she’s stood next to him instead of behind with the other man escorting them out towards the carriage that looks too ornate for this town. 

Words are being exchanged behind them both, but everytime they attempt to look back their gazes are pushed instead to stare at the carriage ahead of them, carefully he slides out of the man’s grip on his shoulder and with a shout behind him runs back to his Mother, losing his sister’s hand in the process.

She catches him without a word and holds him close, “You must look after your sister.” She states it in his ear, before letting go of him again and he misses the warmth almost immediately, “And she will look after you-” She cradles his cheek, “-my sweet boy, you will be fine as long as you both stay together.” 

Then his Mother lets him go and he is carried across into the carriage. 

“What did Mother say?” His sister’s voice is barely above a whisper as the man sat on the opposite side of them stares as he is loaded in next to his sister. 

He shakes his head, a sign to ask again later and she tucks herself into his side, her hands curling around her doll and pulling it closer in for comfort. 

“Who are you?” He asks the man, he raises his eyebrows in response, a short sigh of disbelief and an assumption of incompetence that is incorrect, “Where are you taking us?”

  
The man wears a number of rings that shine in the low winter light, “To Syngorn, you will attend schooling there.” 

“What if we don’t want to?” 

“You are without choice in the matter, boy.” His tone leaves no room for argument, though whoever he is has clearly underestimated the length of their intelligence and wit. 

He goes to speak, but his sister gets there first, “You didn’t tell us who you are, why should we not voice our disagreements when we don’t even know your name.” Her voice is confident but smaller than it would usually hold from her place half hidden by his shoulder. 

“I am your Father, that is why I have a say.” 

“We don’t have a Father.” His sister replies, all the warmth leaking out with more prejudice than he ever remembers her having, “Just our Mother.” 

The man who claims to be their blood donor sighs, long and deep, fingers coming to perch themselves on the bridge of his nose, “You do know how children come to be don’t you?” 

“We do, but Fathers are people who stay and raise you.” She fires at him and the boy feels nothing but pride as his sister clutches her doll tighter and glares daggers at the man and his claims. 

The gem on his ring is a shallow sort of green, an emerald maybe and he thinks about how easy it would be to slip it from his fingers. 

“Take us home to our Mother.” He demands, his sister staying silent now but her eyes pitched forward, tongue ready to slit this man’s throat. 

Curtains ruffle with a non-existent breeze, he receives no answer.

"Take us home, back to our Mother." He repeats, a little rumble under his feet that could easily be the carriage going over a stone.

"I cannot do that." 

"Why not?" He is aware, a little of the low rumble that does not come from the horses guiding the carriage. 

The man who claims to be their father shakes his head, "The thought of my blood- Even if you are tainted, anywhere near peasantry is appalling." 

Emerald shatters in a small explosion of dust and Vax'ildan stares at it, the man stares at him as they both realise at once that he had been the cause. 

Vax looks at the man, who he still doesn’t have a name for and receives a bewildered stare in return, before the man’s lips part a little bit. 

“Ah.” He breathes, then leans back in his seat, decorum breaking, “ _ Fuck.”  _


	3. The Prodigy

_ 795 - 797 P.D  _

_ Zephrah _

  
  


The Girl starts setting fire to curtains when she is six, no one is quite sure how she comes by the means of how. It is just apparent that she can and so she will. 

Shape water is a very popular spell to learn within the following months and the girl, of course, finds it utterly fascinating. 

She learns many basic spells within three months and by the time she is seven, she has stopped burning curtains and is instead making storms appear above the head of whichever person in the tribe had been particularly disagreeable on that day, thus making it rain on their hair.

It is needless and wordless that the girl must be a prodigy in magical elements, though no one, not even her Mother or Father can say truly  _ where  _ those elements truly lie. 

Fire flickers at her fingertips, wind sings lullabies in her ears, water is a welcoming old friend and the ground  _ shakes  _ at the very edges of her anger. 

Leaves flow around her and the only explanation anyone can really come up with is that she is a born Druid, who should learn how to curb and control the abilities that come so naturally to her. 

It is on the edges of her eighth birthday that she turns herself, for the very first time, into a puppy. 

It is this time in particular however, that the girl finds herself at a loss as to how to turn back into her half elven form. 

The first emotion that comes forth is of course,  _ excitement  _ because who doesn’t love to be something they are not by pure accident, the second emotion is  _ fear  _ because how is she supposed to turn back? How was she going to explain who she was to everyone in the tribe? 

She is a puppy built from panic when warm hands scope her up, tawny beige coloured and freckled with little specks of gold, she sees edges of long red hair that trails along the ground the same colour as the marigolds she can see in the fields below her mountain. 

The being raises her, so that she meets green eyes and a warm smile, “Well, haven’t you gotten yourself into quite a pickle?” Power radiates in the woman’s words, but warmth settles as if she is in her Mother’s arms. 

She is, all at once, her little eight year old self again, held carefully in this woman’s arms, “How did you- I mean, I didn’t know how to-” 

A finger, so much larger than her own swells down her nose as the woman keeps on smiling, “You are quite talented aren’t you?”

“The elders say I am!” She sits up in the woman’s arms, not even phasing her, “I’m a quick study too, though I don’t always think things through.” 

A trickle of laughter, “I think you shall be my choice little one.”

The girl tilts her head, her own red hair tumbling over her shoulders, “Your choice?” 

“Yes, for a game I like to have with some friends of mine…” Her voice is so soft and welcoming, she starts to walk in the direction of her home, “But first, we must discuss your education with your parents.” 

She straightens her head again, confused. 

“Well, clearly, little one, you haven’t been getting the lessons you require.” The girl raises her eyebrows and the woman laughs again, bouncing her up in her arms, “My name is Melora, I think I know just what I can teach you.” 

The girl pulls herself down a little bit, “Teach me?” 

“Yes and then we are going to play that game of mine.” 

Well, Keyleth did like games.


	4. Dauntless Renewal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends and old games, becoming new again.

_ 798 P.D, 13th of Dualahei  _

_ Zephrah  _

* * *

The tree casts a long shadow across the village below, long enough that anyone who looks up into it does not see the figure perched there like a bored cat watching the people moving below. 

She is too old for this, she thinks sometimes and everyone is always far too young. 

Little mortal beings move below her, she can read them all within a single look, who is wanting and who is waiting. 

She will collect the man who is waiting for her on her way out of this tiresome meeting, it will be the same pitch as always from Melora but she must remember to say  _ No  _ firmly and redirect her old friend towards the Arch Heart instead if she so desperately wants to play.

The sun comes through the branches of the tree above her and she lets the light warm her arm before she moves it into her lap instead, waiting and watching, carrying when it was needed. 

“Ah-” 

“ _ No.”  _ She says it firmly as Melora appears, light careful in how it follows her, small flowers blooming in the wake of her dress’ train, “I don’t need you to tell me what you want, it’s still a no.” 

Melora frowns as she stops just short of the shadow, “But you haven’t even heard me out, my Queen.” 

She turns, her face hidden behind her mask but the emotion shining through nonetheless. 

“But I found an exciting proposition this time.” She moves closer, just a step, the Queen retreats further into the shadows, “She’s so talented and you are the only one who could possibly find a match for that-” 

She stands, a ruffle of feathers as birds squawk nearby as she does, “ _ Melora.”  _

“Come on…” Her hands are taken up by the goddess, “It’s been so long since we last played, a few centuries at  _ least.”  _

The Raven Queen raises her head further upwards, “It has barely been one.” 

“Then we should play again before the time stretches too far.” 

“Go and find Corellon, maybe they will play with you-” 

“They let me win!” It is said with the sort of tired sigh that only comes when you truly love another being, but disappointment shines in it, “Just meet Keyleth,  _ please  _ she will delight you.” 

Admittedly, she hesitates this time because Melora has never insisted this much on a champion, never, not once, not even back when she gifted her the Clays three games ago. 

“Fine, I’ll meet her.” 

Melora utterly beams, as a small red haired girl is called and walks towards them. 

“Though, I bet I can take anyone off the street and train them better.” She continues and Melora just beams wider, as she directs Keyleth to show the Queen all she has learnt in the last three months. 

It is a swirl of tricks, but the girl makes the ground rumple beneath her feet and the sky rumble with thunder without even lifting her fingers. 

Delicately, The Raven Queen asks for the girl’s hand and places a singular ring on her palm, “When you are ready, put this on.” 

“When I’m ready?” Keyleth asks, “I’m ready now.” 

She smiles behind her mask, maybe this one will be interesting after all… Maybe she should play properly, instead of feigning a loss. 

“You are a mere child, you have so much more to learn about the balance of life.” And she rises carefully, turning to Melora who holds out a bowl of woven thorns, a ring similar to the one Keyleth now holds within it, “Don’t you want to do it yourself when I find her opponent?”

Melora shakes her head, “I trust you, my Queen.” 

The Raven Queen takes the bowl. 

Keyleth blinks and the goddess is gone, whilst Melora turns to leave the young girl stares at the shadows, the spot where she had been a moment before and then looks at the ring in her palm. 

It is made of a delicate silver, words are inscribed on the outside and she strains to read them, they’re a language she doesn’t know. 

Then they shift and they read in common. 

_ One Champion Must Remain. _


End file.
